


Devil Winds

by whittackers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, M/M, Sex Dreams, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 11:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittackers/pseuds/whittackers
Summary: The Santa Ana winds come to town. They make things weird.





	Devil Winds

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend episode and my hatred for LA xx

It's not that Enjolras regrets moving to California, exactly.

ABC International is everything he thought it would be; he's really proud of the work he's been doing. He's met some of the best people he knows here. Though the US isn't ideal, Los Angeles still feels somewhat like the centre of the world, though part of him hates that he's begun to think of it that way.

The real problem is the weather. It's the middle of Autumn, and still, the heat is unbearable.

Inescapable. He pulls at his tie trying to let some air circulate before he catches himself - he needs to remain professional. He can feel the sweat beading along his forehead and the eyes of fifteen of his colleagues as he stands at the lectern. They should have air-conditioning. They shouldn't need it - it's _October_ \- but southern California doesn't care about that. The unit is being repaired however, and Enjolras cuts off his presentation mid-sentence to open the meeting room window.

"You shouldn't do that." Jehan warns, from the other side of the conference table.

Enjolras doesn't even hesitate, just pries the thing open and heads back to the front of the room. He's flicking over to his next slide when a gust of wind blows in--a blast of hot air that rifles through hair and pushes at clothes, sends papers flying, and knocks over Enjolras's water glass.

"It's the Devil Winds." He hears Jehan proclaim, even as the room buzzes, as everyone jumps up to help with the mess.

"Right. Great." Enjolras sighs.

Combeferre's found some napkins and is mopping up the water when another gust blows through the room, and it's all Enjolras can do not to give in and melt to the floor, as more papers flutter about him. But of course he doesn't, stepping back over to close the window.

To his surprise Grantaire has beat him there, jumping up from his seat at the back of the room, their hands brushing as they both reach for the sill. Before either of them manage to slide the window closed, a new gust comes through, rushing around both of them and causing Grantaire's t-shirt to somehow flip up, exposing his bare chest.

Enjolras steps back. Takes a breath. The only thought that makes it into his head is that somehow Grantaire is allowed to wear t-shirts and flip-flops to work, while Enjolras smoulders in his suit.

Grantaire manages to push the fabric back down and force the window shut, and Enjolras spins around and walks back over to his seat before Grantaire can look at him. He can't wait to read the minutes for this particular meeting.

"Combeferre, maybe you can take us through the budget report?" Enjolras asks, needing a moment to collect himself.

Combeferre mercifully agrees and heads for the front of the room as Enjolras settles in his seat and starts to reorder the papers that have been collected. One of the first changes he made when he started in this position was to make the office paperless, or as near to it as possible, so it's not as bad as it could have been. That is until the next moment, when the power goes out. The lights flicker before dying and the projection cuts off, as the wind knocks a stray branch against the window, making them all jump.

"Devil winds." He hears whispered again.

"All right. Thanks everyone. Let's reschedule for tomorrow." Enjolras walks out of the meeting room, not waiting for the rest of his team to pack up. Courfeyrac is the one to chase after him, matching his pace as Enjolras continues to march towards his office.

"Who do we speak to about the power?" Enjolras asks him as they walk. He's only been in his position - Director of the ABC SoCal Division - for two months, and he hasn't yet had to deal with anything like this. These sorts of things never happened to him back in Paris.

"Feuilly's on it, don't worry." Courfeyrac grabs his arm, stopping them. "Are you okay?"

"It's just so hot." Enjolras mutters, unable to stop the words from slipping out. Courfeyrac's already become so much more than just an employee, but it still feels wrong to betray something so much like a weakness.

Courfeyrac only grins. "Wait until Summer. Maybe I'll finally be able to get you to the beach."

Enjolras huffs a response. That was unfair, anyway;  he had seen the beach from the plane when he'd arrived in LA. And again from the window at the Santa Monica meeting last fortnight.

"I'll be in my office." He walks off alone, closing the door behind him and leaning against it for a moment.

As he stands there, eyes closed, he wills the power to come back on, to no avail of course. Workplace productivity today is going to be horrendous. Still, even though he's only been managing them for a short time, he trusts his team and knows they'll catch up on the work eventually. Everyone here seems to believe in the ABC as much as he does.

Well, almost everyone, anyway.

A few more seconds and he's able to push off the door and settle over at his desk. There's enough battery left in his laptop that he can work offline for a while, but he's finding it hard to focus, the room still stiflingly hot. All he can think of is going home to his blissfully air-conditioned apartment, taking a shower, and collapsing into bed.

That's when he remembers that technically, he doesn't answer to anyone in the LA office, so that's exactly what he does, calling it an early day and heading out, stopping to say goodbye to a few of his ~~friends~~ employees first. He'll get more done at home anyway, with his apartment's functioning wi-fi and air-conditioning.

That's what he thinks, anyway, but when he gets home he lacks the energy to do much of anything. He's able to answer a few emails and finish editing one of his speeches for next week's gala before he gives up and collapses onto his couch, conveniently located beneath the air-conditioning unit, and lies there for a long time, eventually switching on the T.V. and watching mindlessly. He can't believe how much the heat has taken out of him. Courfeyrac's joking aside, he's worried about how he's actually going to function when Summer comes.

Eventually, he drags himself up and into the shower, then falls into bed.

 

In the early hours of the morning, a gust of wind rushes about him once more.

His eyes fly open and flick over to the open window. He'd thought he'd left it closed last night, and the air-conditioning on, but the wind rushes about the hot room regardless. It takes him several sleep-drowsy moments to get up and block out that too hot, dry, rushing air, but eventually he stumbles over and slams the window shut, locking it to be sure. The heat feels overpowering with the wind gone, but it's easier to bear. The room is still.

"Now it's just us." The voice says from behind him.

Hands that are even warmer than the too hot room caress his bare shoulders, a warm body pressed against his back. Enjolras closes his eyes and leans his head back into the embrace. A shiver runs down his spine, as the hands smooth their way along his chest before gripping him closer.

He recognises the voice when he catches the flicker of familiar curls from the corner of his eye, as warm lips press against the side of his neck.

He spins round so he's facing Grantaire, their bodies flush together, and the heat is nearly torturous. Fire sparks where skin meets skin, but Enjolras does nothing to douse it, pressing into the warmth and bringing their mouths together in a searing kiss.

They kiss for a hundred years, and still Enjolras is in no rush. But then, in a blink, they're on the bed, and Enjolras straddles Grantaire, pressing him into the mattress.

He has Grantaire beneath him, Grantaire is _his_.

The wind blows around them, lining them up.

He pauses. Leans forward, seeking more skin, more contact, bends lower to bring their lips together again--

 

Enjolras wakes up, drenched in sweat and achingly hard.

He's gripping the sheets, damp and sticky beneath him; a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead and into his eye, but he won't release his hands, for fear they'll travel lower, where he wants nothing more than to slide them down between his legs and find his release.

It's a long time before he unclenches his grip from the sheets and wrenches himself out of bed.

The window is still open, and Enjolras wants to slam it shut, but he heads for the bathroom first. When he gets inside he steps into the shower and turns the cold tap all the way up, holding himself under the icy spray and breathing through his teeth, waiting for his body to get under control.

It was just a dream, he repeats to himself.

Occasionally, Enjolras does dream.

He's even dreamt about people from the office before.

Never doing _that_ before.

Regardless, he won't pay heed to dreams. As the cold water falls around him and his brain starts to feel like his own again, he begins to feel better. Not calm, but no longer ablaze. And, all things considered, he'd rather have this than the recurring clown nightmare that's followed him into adulthood.

He switches off the tap and steps out of the shower, towelling himself off. He still has a few more hours before he has to get up for work, and now that he's cooled down, he's able to doze, though he makes sure to shut the bedroom window before heading back to sleep.

 

* * *

When he gets to work the next morning the power, and air-conditioning, are mercifully back on, and he can almost pretend the past twenty-four hours never happened, if not for the lingering feeling in his gut he hasn't been able to shake since he woke up. He goes to make coffee before heading to his desk, hoping the routine and caffeine will get him back to feeling like himself.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac are already there - they always have coffee together before the day starts, he knows - and he pours himself a cup before joining them at the breakroom table.

"'Morning."

He must have given something away, because as soon as he sits down Courfeyrac asks him "Are you alright?"

Enjolras thinks about whether he should explain. He trusts these two more than anyone else, but this is something he should be able to handle on his own. Still, it slips out, "I just, had a weird dream last night. Haven't been able to shake it off."

Courfeyrac hums and leans closer to him. "It's the Santa Ana Winds, dude. They make things weird."

"The what?" Enjolras looks up from his coffee. This is a phrase he hasn't heard before, though his mind recalls Jehan's cryptic remarks from yesterday.

Combeferre explains. "They're the katabatic winds that originate from high-pressure air masses in the Great Basin, bringing strong, hot air down from the planes."

"Okay… Why are you telling me this?"

Courfeyrac adds on, "They make things weird. The winds. All that hot, dry, dusty air, getting into your head. They make people all wound up, do stuff they wouldn't normally. Can't you feel it?"

Courfeyrac watches him a moment, and Enjolras takes a careful sip of his coffee.

"They also bring weird dreams. And ideal fire conditions. And dangerous spores." Courfeyrac finishes.

Combeferre nudges Courfeyrac fondly. "You know I love it when you talk spores."

Enjolras interjects before the other two get away from him. "This sounds ridiculous."

"Maybe so," Combeferre shrugs, "But live here a few years and you'll start to notice a pattern. Don't worry, they usually don't stay too long."

Courfeyrac saddles closer to him. "So… what did you dream about?"

Enjolras feels himself blush. He looks down into his coffee cup. "It was… Uh-"

"Last year I dreamt I was pregnant, and Marius was the baby."

Enjolras is saved from having to respond as his very own answer wanders into the breakroom and pulls out a mug, freezing in place when he notices them. Enjolras knows Grantaire is on friendlier terms with the other two, but he's only got eyes for Enjolras. Or rather, he's got frantic glances and conspicuous avoidance for Enjolras - which is probably for the best - but he doesn't know why _Grantaire_ seems so uncomfortable.

Enjolras studies him, trying to work out why his brain chose this man for his dreams to latch onto. Enjolras didn't usually go for that LA hipster vibe that was so popular here, but still he found himself drawn to Grantaire. And the two of them didn't exactly get on - there seemed to be a weird energy between them whenever they happened to be alone together. But then, dreams didn't have to make sense.

Determined to act normal, Enjolras calls over to him "Good morning, Grantaire," noting the blush that deepens in his cheeks when he does so.

Grantaire murmurs into his mug "Oh, I just remembered, I'm allergic to coffee," and ducks back out of the room without a glance over at them.

Combeferre is the one to comment after he's left. "Uh… what was that about?"

"Santa Ana Winds." Courfeyrac answers, and he and Combeferre both nod understanding.

Enjolras rolls his eyes at them, then pushes his chair back and stands up. "Let's get to work."

* * *

 

An eternity ticks by. Enjolras drums his fingers beneath the table, unseen. If there's one thing he hates about his new job, it's how tied up everything feels. He wants to be out on the streets, rioting, but he knows he can do more good where he is. That is if he manages to outstay this meeting, an idea that feels increasingly unlikely as he watches the seconds refuse to tick by on the wall clock. He can hear the others still talking - out of respect to their international visitors, they'd switched to speaking Gobbledygook some time ago - but the words elude him as his focus switches to battling the inswirling inertia. The door swings open and Grantaire strolls in, a smile playing at his lips, and Enjolras has to glare.

"You're late."

Grantaire doesn't say anything, just smirks, and Enjolras wants nothing more than to wipe it off his face. Grantaire's already ahead of him, of course, not wasting any time as he drops to his knees and settles himself between Enjolras's legs, runs his hands up Enjolras's thighs, unzips his pants and pulls out his cock.

Though the table is opaque it's obvious what they're doing.

Everyone can see who he belongs to.

Enjolras turns back to the table, using his hand to gently slow Grantaire down, just enough so he can focus.

"So, I know we've gone over this already, but if you could turn again to Figure four hundred and eighty." The investors flip their notebooks back, an echoing chorus of page shuffling as Enjolras sings out a whimper, then stifles it with his hand. He stops listening again as the investors switch back to their mindless debating, but he feels better now, with Grantaire between his thighs. He feels like he could take on anything. He looks down, and brings up his hand to stroke Grantaire's cheek.

Grantaire makes a sound then, a low moan, and suddenly it's unbearable. That sound should belong to Enjolras alone.

He dismisses the room, the tone of his voice commanding enough that in a blink everyone is gone, leaving just the two of them and all the time in the world. Enjolras reaches down, pulls Grantaire up by his shirt and into a kiss, Grantaire moving forward to straddle him in his chair, as he reaches towards Grantaire's pant zipper.

 

Enjolras wakes up to find he's come in his sleep, like he's a teenager again.

He takes a few shuddering gulps of air. He's in his bed, alone. The investors meeting isn't until tomorrow - well, today, he realises, glancing at the clock on his nightstand.

This was so much worse than the clown nightmare.

He gets up and showers, keeping the water painfully cold. When he finally gets out of the shower he pauses in the doorframe. It's way too early to get up for work, but he knows he isn't going to be able to get to sleep again. He gets dressed and goes to the office instead, figuring he might as well get a head start to the day. There's already a lot to catch up on. It's easy to work in the empty office, but as people start to show up Enjolras starts to get nervous. What if they see what lies beneath his skin? He stays shut up in his office until he has to leave for his meeting, by which time the guilt for neglecting his duties is becoming almost as bad as the itch that hasn't let go of its hold on him all morning. The Paris office brought him here because they thought SoCal needed a leader, not a coward. (And definitely not a-- libertine.)

The investors meeting is hell to get through. Grantaire arrives before him, early, and Enjolras has to fight the urge to request a different admin member to take part instead. He sits down quickly, reads over the agenda he's had memorised for days. Counts the cracks in the ceiling. Starts planning out his breakfasts for the next two weeks in his head.

It's even harder when the investors show up. Enjolras doesn't look at Grantaire for the whole meeting.

At last it's over, and he waves off the others as quickly as he can before shutting himself in his office.

Cornflakes, cornflakes, cornflakes, he thinks.

* * *

 

At the end of the day he catches Combeferre and Courfeyrac alone again in the breakroom. Part of him wonders when the two of them actually get any work done, but he's glad of it now. He needs to talk about this with someone; it's not going away on its own. He sits down with them and asks "What do you think of Grantaire?"

Combeferre looks him over before answering. "Well, his work is fine, mostly. He can be a bit disruptive at times, but he's good for morale. People get along with him." Combeferre casts another glance at Enjolras before amending "Not all of them, obviously. But he works well within his team. I also think it's useful to have an employee who isn't so… enamoured, with the ABC."

Enjolras clarifies, "I, uh, didn't mean professionally. I meant what do you think of him? What's he like?"

"Oh. May I ask why you're asking?"

Enjolras flounders to come up with something. "I think, in my role here, that it's important to have an understanding of... employee dynamics."

"So, it _is_ a professional interest?"

"Not exactly... I was just- curious."

Combeferre grins, like a crack in a plaster mask. "I like him. He's good fun."

"Fun?" Enjolras can't help the scorn in his tone, though he tries to cover it with a forced smile.

"Does not compute?" Courfeyrac teases in a robotic voice, dropping it to needle "If you really want a better understanding of 'employee dynamics' you should actually come to Friday night drinks for once. Might help you reacquaint yourself with the word."

Enjolras ignores him. "I'm finding Grantaire...frustrating."

"Frustrating?" Courfeyrac leans forward.

"Distracting."

"Oh, really?"

Enjolras glares at him. "Do you know," Enjolras starts, veering slightly away from what he'd been about to say, "He always prepares two versions of the minutes  for meetings we're both attending. One for me and one for everyone else. I'd chew him out for it, but his department head says he's getting all his work done in time so I can't really complain. But you should read some of the stuff he writes..."

"It's frustrating?" Courfeyrac guesses.

Enjolras shrugs.

"Wait. When you say frustrating, do you mean…"

"Yes, okay. I mean _frustrating_. _Sexually_." Enjolras snaps, and Courfeyrac's eyes widen. Combeferre gives a small cough.

"So, your dream yesterday..?"

Enjolras groans and his head sinks to the table. He knows he's being unprofessional but he can't bring himself to sit back up. "Why is this happening to me?"

Courfeyrac rubs his back. "I guess all these years of sexual repression were bound to escape someday."

"You've only known me two months." Has it really only been that long? And then, "I am not repressed."

"I don't need to have known you longer. It's a very strong vibe you give off." Courfeyrac informs him.

Enjolras scoffs, snapping his head back up. "I am not repressed. I'm not. I've never been interested in pursuing a sexual relationship."

Courfeyrac and Combeferre look at him.

Enjolras really can't blame them. He knows how he sounds. Clearly, things have changed. It isn't that he's never noticed another person, it's just been incredibly unimportant to him. He's never before wanted to do something about it. Until now. (He really, really wants to now.)

"What should I do?"

Again, Courfeyrac and Combeferre look at him, Combeferre raising his eyebrows slightly, Courfeyrac with his chin in his hand, their insinuation obvious.

"Great. Thanks for all your help." Enjolras bites, standing up. He's almost out the door when he hears Courfeyrac say "These Santa Ana Winds, I'm telling you."

"Stop saying that!"

* * *

 

The next night, as he's settling himself against Grantaire's chest, he hears the winds whisper to him, and it's their words that wake him this time.

It leaves him feeling off all day.

What's worse, it's not just his dreams that haunt him. For the rest of the week, he starts losing himself to fantasy. He can hardly get through an hour at work without his mind drifting, providing some helpful image of Grantaire pressed against the office wall, or bent over his desk, Enjolras making use of his tie.

By the time Friday rolls around Enjolras has accepted that this has become a problem, and as hard as he tries, he can only think of one solution. Now that it's affecting his work, he gives up and gives in.

He knows the employee handbook back to front. Though Enjolras has seniority, he and Grantaire aren't in the same department, so technically there's nothing that forbids them from fraternising. He makes an appointment with HR for Monday morning as a formality, then logs out and shuts down his computer.

* * *

 

Friday night drinks are held at the bar closest to the office. It's a dark, grimy place and when they enter, Courfeyrac warns him not to order any of the food. They're one of the last few to arrive - most everyone is settled already, several couches and armchairs slung around a table in the corner, and Enjolras sinks into one of the chairs, feeling as out of place as when he first arrived in the US. No one there has noticed him yet - it's dark, and loud, the way bars always are: music blaring and drunken chatter, but above all that Grantaire is shouting.

He breaks off when he sees Enjolras and raises his beer bottle to his lips and takes a long drink. Enjolras's mind goes blank for a second.

"Drink?" Courfeyrac asks him, getting up to head for the bar and breaking the shared gaze.

"Please." Enjolras says. He normally disapproves of liquid courage, but nothing about this is normal for him anyway.

He sits quietly as he waits for Courfeyrac to return. There are a few scattered conversations happening around him, but he won't intrude on any of them, content to wait. He's always felt it wouldn't be fair to come to these gatherings - who could feel at ease around their boss? - but there may have been more than one reason why he's never come out before: he didn't exactly excel at socialising. He's probably being rude. He wonders what everyone is thinking of him being here, and not saying anything. If they think he thinks he's too good for this, or something. With a determined sigh Enjolras leans over to where Marius, the intern, is seated on the couch and inquires about his plans for the weekend.

"I'm taking Cosette to Disneyland!" Marius gushes, and Enjolras instantly regrets trying, biting his tongue against his vitriol for the Disney Corporation.

He spits out a "That sounds… nice."

Thankfully Courfeyrac comes back then and hands Enjolras his drink, nestling himself next to Marius on the couch.

"What are we talking about?" Courfeyrac asks, as he passes over his own cocktail to Marius so he can take a sip.

Enjolras turns away before he has to hear Marius's response, towards the couch on his other side where Jehan, Feuilly, and Joly are talking. Their conversation comes to a lull as soon as he faces them, and he feels awful about being here. He's just about to get up and go when Joly asks him how he's finding L.A.

"It's very different." He replies, a massive understatement, but he's reluctant to say more. It's Friday night, he reminds himself. Now isn't the time to start in about U.S. politics.

"I've always longed to go to Paris." Jehan tells him, and Enjolras can't help the spark of homesickness within him, as he starts to talk about his old neighbourhood. And then, somehow, he starts talking about the weather of all things, and maybe he's finally figured out this small talk thing.

"The weather is so different here. So strange. I never thought I'd be sweating in October."

"It's been a particularly awful year I'm afraid. I'll be glad when the winds pass through." Feuilly mentions, but Joly puts his hand over his mouth.

"Please, don't mention it. I haven't been able to sleep thinking about all the spores in the air."

Enjolras sits back in his seat then, taking a sip from his drink. He's admired his colleagues at work, but he hadn't realised how fond he'd grown of them all. There's a strange feeling of protectiveness inside him, as if there's nothing he wouldn't do for these people - all of them - and Enjolras can feel the smile that's creeping its way onto his face.

He can feel eyes on him. He turns quickly to catch Grantaire's gaze from across the table, and Enjolras can't help but spread his grin wider. Grantaire looks down, but Enjolras can see a faint smile mirrored back, and suddenly he remembers what he came here for.

"Excuse me." He tells the others, and gets up to go to the other side of the table, looming over the armchair there as he asks "Grantaire, a word?"

Grantaire splutters, laying his drink back down on the table and taking a moment to speak. "We're off the clock, Apollo. Can't you wait 'till Monday to berate me?"

Enjolras pushes down the urge to argue. He values his employee's free time more than anyone; he's annoyed Grantaire doesn't know this of him. He clarifies, "This is of a personal nature."

Grantaire looks too surprised to say anything else, too curious not to follow Enjolras down the room and out of hearing distance. It's quieter at this end of the bar but Enjolras still needs to speak up to be heard over the music playing.

It's harder than he predicted to find the words. Enjolras looks him straight in the eye and refuses to look away when he says "Unfortunately, I want to have sex with you."

"What?" Grantaire sputters.

"I know. I was surprised too." Enjolras has to admit.

"Be serious-"

"I am... wild - to the point of distraction. I can't get the thought out of you out of my head. I don't know where it came from, or why it won't go away, but I- I can't focus on work. I can't focus on anything. So, if you're interested, I think we should have sex, so I can move on with my life."

"How romantic." Grantaire huffs out, hunching forward, away from Enjolras's gaze.

Enjolras runs over what he's said and cringes. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at this. I don't normally- I _never_ do this. Obviously you don't have to agree. I just thought you might be interested, and that I should ask." Enjolras is ready to turn away, sure he has his answer, but he can't just leave, as much as he wants to give in to the burning embarrassment growing inside him he needs to salvage their professional relationship.

He watches as Grantaire's body begins to shake, and it takes him a second to realise he's laughing. It's some minutes before he sits back up.

"Are you okay?" Enjolras asks, looking him over as Grantaire lets out another wheeze. He coughs it away.

"I'm just fine."

Enjolras pauses. "Are we okay?"

Grantaire lays a hand on his arm, and Enjolras ignores the jolt that sends through him.

"Apollo we are just fine."

"That's good." Enjolras doesn't sigh.

Grantaire grasps his hand quickly. "Pinch me."

"What? No-"

Grantaire releases him. "You're right, forget it. I never could have dreamt up a proposal that terrible."

Enjolras blinks. Monday morning is looking more and more unbearable. "...Well, we should probably go back to the table."

He's pretty sure he can get Courf to buy him a drink, but Grantaire stops him when he starts to pull away.

"What, I didn't say no."

Enjolras's eyes widen. "Really? You want to do this?"

Grantaire shrugs. "Why the hell not?" Seeing the look on Enjolras's face he adds "Yes, I'm sure."

"When did you want-?"

"Now works for me."

"Now...Great…"

Grantaire moves his grip from Enjolras's arm along to his hand, pulling him towards the door.

Enjolras tugs him still. "We don't have to leave right away, if you want-"

"You're kidding? You expect me to just go back to our friends and pretend you're not about to have your wicked way with me?"

Enjolras spares a thought imagining it. Pictures crowding Grantaire, lips against his ear, whispering all he's going to do to him tonight. And then, sending him back to the table, just so Enjolras can watch him squirm for the rest of the night, waiting for Enjolras to be ready to leave.

He's beyond ready for these thoughts to stop. (Except for the part of him that really, really isn't.)

What he says is "All right, let's go."

Grantaire grins.

Enjolras adds "But we should at least say goodbye first."

"You want everyone to see us leaving together?"

"It doesn't bother me." He won't feel ashamed about this; he's a forward thinking, sex-positive person, even if before now he's only been so in the abstract.

"Right." Grantaire lets out a shuddering breath. "Fine. I don't think they'd assume- If you were anyone else, maybe, but you're _you_ , carved from lofty marble. _I_ don't even believe it."

Enjolras doesn't even believe it. Curse these Devil Winds, this is a bad idea. But there's no room left inside him for regret.

He tells Grantaire "If it would make you more comfortable-"

"No, you're right." Grantaire says, and Enjolras watches him steel himself. "Let's go."

Enjolras keeps hold of Grantaire's hand as they go back to the table, only lets go when he's fumbling at his apartment door for his keys.

"So..." Enjolras says once he's swung the door open and is leading the way inside. Even though this  was Enjolras's idea he's still nervous beyond belief. "Can I get you some coffee, or something?"

He has no idea what he's doing. What he's supposed to do. He wants to feel in control again, but then if he'd been able to conjure up that feeling at will he wouldn't be here in the first place.

Grantaire strolls into the room and hums lowly as he looks around. "That relocation package didn't leave you anything for furniture? Or décor of any kind?"

Enjolras shrugs. "I have what I need."

"What is it?- a splash of colour, a picture frame, piece of art, and suddenly you'll be thrown into the grips of indulgence and leave the revolution by the wayside,"

If Grantaire continues talking this evening is not going to end the way he wants it to - he's going to lose himself in some stupid debate - and Enjolras can't have that. He surges forward where Grantaire stands by the wall, but his aim is off, and he plants a kiss at the corner of Grantaire's still open mouth. It's messy and awkward and Enjolras pulls back a second later, and Grantaire hardly slows down his talking at all, continuing on his tangent. But then, when he's finished his sentence he cups Enjolras's cheek and lines their lips up properly.

The kiss is nothing of what he'd imagined. Grantaire's stubble grazes and stings, and he tastes of bitter beer, and he's so, so hesitant, as if he thinks Enjolras is going to change his mind at any second.

But his lips are softer than anything Enjolras could have conjured, and the flutter in his chest is better than any dream.

Enjolras presses against him, opens his mouth and coaxes Grantaire with his tongue, until something in him gives, and he starts kissing back in earnest. They kiss for a long time, still in the middle of Enjolras's living room. He can't remember the last time he kissed someone - has to remember to close his eyes, doesn't know what to do with his hands - just knows that he wants this, and makes up for his awkwardness with undeniable enthusiasm. Grantaire doesn't have that problem, still cradling Enjolras's cheek, his other lifting up to wind into Enjolras's hair, and Enjolras feels caught off guard. He hadn't known kissing could be like this. 

Enjolras lifts his hands, awkwardly placing them on Grantaire's sides, encouraged by the small sound Grantaire makes at his touch.

Grantaire breaks away only to kiss his way down Enjolras's jaw and along his neck, and he has to fight down a shiver, bite back a gasp.

This was ridiculous. The way his skin was lighting up when- This whole thing was ridiculous. A fluke. An indulgence, at a time when he thought he was past such things. He had fooled around a bit when he was younger, but he'd stopped years ago. Stopped because it had felt meaningless. But it doesn't feel meaningless now.

He doesn't know what it means now.

Breathless, Enjolras tells him "You know, I do have a bed."

Grantaire doesn't move far away, mumbling into Enjolras's neck, "I almost don't believe you. I'm expecting a mattress on the floor. Although even that seems too ostentatious. A wooden plank maybe."

"I'll prove it."

There are probably clumsier ways to get a boy into his bedroom, but Enjolras doubts it. Grantaire snorts but he lets Enjolras pull him down the hall.

And then they're on the bed - when had they gotten on the bed? - and Enjolras is stripped down to his underwear, as he watches Grantaire pull off his shirt, which gets caught around his shoulders - maybe there was something to be said for button-downs after all - and Enjolras laughs before kneeling up to help him, throwing the shirt at the wall as Grantaire frees himself from his pants and follows Enjolras down to the bed.

He shifts over so he's lying next to him, propped up on one elbow, his other hand moving along Enjolras's arm as he asks "What do you want?"

Enjolras leans forward and kisses him again to stall, craning his neck up to reach. He feels the need burning inside him - wants to have Grantaire over every surface of his apartment, in every position - but he hadn't counted on how overwhelming this would feel. He thought it would be the same as his dreams.

Eventually he whispers between them, unable to articulate better, "I want you."

Enjolras can feel the quip forming beneath Grantaire's lips, so he kisses him silent. Truthfully he can't think about what he wants. He's afraid if he thinks about it he'll talk himself back to logic. He isn't meant for this overwhelming passion; he's supposed to be above such things.

Grantaire pulls away after a second though.

"Hey, it's fine. We don't have to do anything. I can just go. Or we can just make out all night. Whatever."

Enjolras can feel Grantaire's arousal pressing against his leg, but there's nothing false in his words.

"I want this, I just- I need a second." But he doesn't want to stop kissing. Doesn't want Grantaire's hands to leave him. Doesn't want his dreams to have come to nothing. 

It's a lot. A lot more than he'd thought it would be. A lot more than a fantasy. Grantaire's hand starts moving along his arm again as he waits for Enjolras, a loving look in his eyes, and that's a lot too.

He isn't some blushing virgin, as much as his tangled thoughts feel fluttered, and any second now he's going to take some ground back. Any second now. Any second-

"Can we just-?"

Grantaire waits, and Enjolras rolls over so he's straddling him, shifting Grantaire up so he's leaning back against the headboard, as his hand moves down between them, and with considered movements Enjolras frees them both from their underwear. "Like this- Just-?"

"Yeah," Grantaire sighs and presses a quick, soft kiss upon Enjolras's lips. "Just like this."

"In the drawer." Enjolras explains, as he leans away from the moment, passing supplies back to Grantaire as he moves his head forward so it's resting on his shoulder, his gaze hidden. Breathes in, breathes out. Kisses the junction of his neck because he can't help himself.

"OK, Apollo?"

"Yes," Enjolras whispers, and then louder "Yes." He moves his head back to kiss Grantaire again, as his hand comes up to wrap alongside Grantaire's where he's lined them up, and gently, Enjolras starts shifting his hips in time.

Distantly, he can hear the rustle of trees outside. Excepting his frequent checking in with Enjolras, Grantaire is remarkably quiet, now. Enjolras hadn't expected that of him. He's near silent himself - whatever's happening here feels fragile, like the slightest wisp could fracture it, and he'll wake up once more, alone.

Grantaire studies his face and Enjolras has to lean forward again, close his eyes against his gaze. It's a lot more intimate than Enjolras had planned. Dangerously intimate. He doesn't know what's going to happen after. When work comes Monday morning. But he forces his thoughts back to where they should be - to  where he wants them to be - where all he can think about is the body beneath him, the feel of Grantaire in his hand, the heat of breath and brush of lips as they move together, until Enjolras's movements start to turn desperate, faster, and he can stop thinking altogether.

He doesn't last long. Surprised he made it so far at all, with how sensitive he feels. He comes with Grantaire's hand around him, a whisper on his neck and a shout inside his head.

And then Grantaire comes a second later, and that surprises him more.

Enjolras relaxes against him, boneless, blissed, and still panting, as he watches Grantaire's face through his orgasm, before leaning in to collapse properly on top of Grantaire's chest.

He should get up, should clean himself off, should do something to put some distance - some barrier - between them. But he can't bring himself to move.

"Thanks." Enjolras huffs when he gets his words back.

Grantaire snorts. "Any time, Apollo." His hand comes up to rest against Enjolras's back.

 

Grantaire is gone when he wakes up the next morning.

Though the window is wide open, the air is still.


End file.
